The Liverpool Trilogy (79 page)

She favoured him with a dazzling smile. He liked her; he wouldn’t kick her out of bed. Like her mother, Mel was acutely aware of the effect she had on men. ‘We’re old in our
heads, Dr Bingley. And look at me – strong as a horse, stubborn as a mule and feisty as a polo pony on its day off. New blood. A bit of working-class backbone to inject into the equation. You
don’t want to be all Blundellsands and Crosby, do you? Get a bit of spirit in your genes.’

Tom glanced at the ceiling as if seeking inspiration. ‘No one of fourteen can possibly know who he or she will marry.’

‘Then you’ve no worries, have you?’

She was quick, he had to give her that much. ‘You are old enough to bear a child.’

‘But not daft enough.’

‘Catholic?’

‘Debatable. There will be no contraception, because there will be no fornication. Is that plain enough?’

She was her mother all over again, and Peter was going to be a lucky tyke. ‘Those feelings overwhelm. The urge to connect completely may become too strong.’ No way would he be able
to resist this one. But he wouldn’t get the chance, and he was happy now with just Marie. Wasn’t he?

‘We’ll manage. Now. Are you going to behave yourself, or shall I set my gran on you? She’s wonderfully fierce.’

Tom loved Marie. He had dragged her out of a pit created in childhood, had learned how to conduct himself in order to make the relationship work, and he no longer regretted the marriage. But his
peripheral vision still held images of this child’s mother, and he was glad that she was going away in the New Year. Mel, however, would be hanging around. ‘You leave me no option,
Amelia. Your grandmother has already given me grief, so I shall just have to do my best to accept my very young son’s fiancée. I still find the whole thing ridiculous,
though.’

As they walked back to the small room in which Peter was resting, Mel slipped her arm through Tom’s. ‘Please don’t fight me,’ she begged.

‘Because I’d never win?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

After she had withdrawn her hand, Tom’s arm tingled for seconds.

In another hospital just under forty miles away, a second young man lay. He would not be going home after an hour’s rest, because his core temperature remained below
average, while diabetes added to the problem. Warm saline and a heated bed did their slow work while specialists tested his blood.

A door swung inwards. ‘Blood’s as flat as a pancake,’ the sister shouted.

Neil and Gill were sent away while flat-as-a-pancake was dealt with.

‘Do they mean dead?’ asked Gill.

Neil shook his head. ‘Nay, he’s just out of sugar, that’s all.’

‘Oh.’ She chewed her lip. ‘So what will they do?’

‘They’ll fill him with the stuff.’

‘It’s rationed.’

The farmer failed to prevent a smile. ‘They’re not going to pour a two-pound bag of Co-op’s best granulated down him, love. It’ll be like water and it won’t be
much. They’ll drip it into his blood.’

Gill sat very still and stared into the future. It shouldn’t be like this. She had the child she’d always craved, a decent home if she could be bothered to clean it properly, a
husband exempt from the forces but with a job, and lovely people around her. ‘Neil?’

‘What?’

‘You know how he gets on my nerves?’

He nodded.

‘How can I cope? And have I had a nervous breakdown?’

Difficult questions. He had to think hard before answering, because this woman would probably hang on every word. Of late, she had scarcely listened to anyone, but she was certainly
concentrating now. ‘I don’t know about nervous breakdowns, Gill, because I’m not a doctor. But I do remember Jeanie after she had our Patty. Every time I spoke to her she bit my
head off. I used to read in the shippon with my cows. Then one day she was right again. We’ve always argued, but we don’t let the sun go down on a quarrel.’ He didn’t need
to tell Gill about his and Jean’s wonderful sex life. That didn’t continue in every marriage, so Gill needed to find her own way home for part of the route.

‘So I could be out of flunter because of Maisie?’

‘Oh yes. Definitely.’

So that was the answer to some of it. ‘And what about him in there?’ she asked.

Neil shook his head. ‘You have to look at it this way, Gill. Part of it could be his illness. He was diabetic for a long time before it was noticed. Again, I have to say I’m not a
doctor, but I’ve heard Elsie Openshaw say that diabetics get moods. You’ve a choice. You can stay with him or leave him.’ He refused to add the fact that Jay was fighting for his
life just yards away.

‘Where would I go?’

‘No idea.’

A lonely tear found its way down Gill’s cheek. ‘He makes me that mad, I could kill him.’

He had to do it. Shock sometimes worked where kindness failed. ‘You may not need to.’

Her head shot round to face him. ‘What did you say?’

‘He’s not out of the woods, sweetheart.’

Gill shot out of her chair like a bullet from a gun. She wasn’t having this. If young Phil Watson hadn’t gone to Liverpool, her daft swine would have been all right. She stopped in
her tracks and walked back to Neil. ‘Why did you carry him all the way to Home Farm? Why didn’t you take him into Four Oaks and get him dry there? Happen he wouldn’t have caught
his death of cold if you’d—’

‘It was locked, Gill. There’s been a bit of light-fingering going on, and after Jay had finished they locked up before going back to work. Home Farm was the nearest.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ She fled once more.

Back in Jay’s room, she surveyed the people surrounding the bed. ‘Is he all right? He’d better be, or you’ll have me to answer to if he turns his toes up.’

‘Gill?’

‘What?’

‘Shut up.’

But she was riled. ‘He’s got a little daughter, not even weaned yet. It’s not his fault he fell in the trough. If you got his diabetes right, he wouldn’t be lying in
ice-cold water, would he?’

‘Gill?’

‘He’s only thirty-four. That’s no age to—’ She stopped and blinked several times. None of this lot knew her name, but someone kept saying it.

‘I am not dying before I have a cup of tea.’

‘For God’s sake,’ cried the ward sister. ‘Nurse, will you fetch this person a cup of tea?’ She spoke to the person’s wife. ‘We had to hang on with nil
by mouth until we checked his kidneys, but we’ve had him on a drip. All I can say to you, love, is I hope you take him home soon, because he’s driving us round the bend.’

‘He does that,’ Gill replied. ‘There’s no cure.’

At last, she was alone with him. He looked so small in the bed, so thin. ‘Get yourself right,’ she ordered. ‘And shape up, will you? Be a clown just on Fridays down at the
pub.’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Stop doing stuff when you’re tired.’

‘Yes, miss.’

It was hopeless, and she knew it. But she also knew she wanted him alive. And she would learn to love him again if it killed her . . .

‘Wake up, you dozy, wonderful woman.’ Keith stroked her face with a forefinger. She felt like a peach, smooth and soft, but downy. Her hair gave off the aroma of
spring flowers, and if he wasn’t careful he’d end up on a dusty, forgotten bookshelf with the rest of the romantic poets, because he was certainly becoming daft enough.

This gorgeous woman had caused many changes in him. She had made him younger, happier, less careful, more inclined to read Keats, Wordsworth and even a bit of Shelley. The worries of the
previous evening had left her tired, so he would cheer her up a bit in a minute. Well, he would try. One of her best qualities was her inclination towards natural happiness. ‘Come on,
Chuckabutty. Wake up and talk to this rather pleasant young – youngish – man.’

Eileen yawned and opened one eye. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how safe am I?’ He was hovering, elbow bent, head resting on a hand. The devil was visiting those beautiful eyes again,
and his left eyebrow was slightly raised. When that item relocated itself, people should lock up their daughters and root round for chastity belts. ‘Man the bloody lifeboats,’ she
sighed. ‘Get women and children off this ship.’ He was working his way up to something, and it was breakfast time. ‘Well?’ she asked once more. ‘How safe am I in your
company, sir?’

Keith considered the question. They were in bed. They were in bed together. He was stark naked, as usual, while she was wrapped in a hideous dressing gown that looked as if it had been cobbled
together by a visually challenged person whose only available fabrics were army surplus items. ‘If I can get you out of that horse blanket, you’ll be about as safe as a rabbit with the
business end of a gun up its nose. Well? Are you going to carry on lying there all enigmatic and silent? I can do enigmatic and silent, but I won’t be still. In fact, I may come over rather
vigorous.’

Eileen delivered a long, damp raspberry in his direction. The house was full of people. One was her mother, two were her sons, the fourth was her daughter, while the householder would be
expecting eggs, toast and milky tea in about fifteen minutes. Eileen had things to do, and last night had been horrible. Poor Peter. If he got Mel in trouble, the lad would be doubly poor, that was
a certainty. ‘Does it have to be now? Only I’ve other clients in need of attention.’

He nodded gravely. ‘Has to be now. Part of my course work, as I seem to remember explaining on several occasions. I told you about the practicals, didn’t I? There’s the oral
exam you can help me with— Ouch. That hurt, madam. I shall park you on the draining board again if you’re not careful. Right, I’ll settle for a kiss and a bit of mechanical
engineering.’

‘Mechanical excuse me?’

‘It does no harm,’ he said seriously, ‘just to check from time to time whether all your parts are in working order. We don’t want rust eating away at your bodywork.
It’s a classy chassis, is that. Also, if you keep sleeping under that bloody tarpaulin, I shan’t be able to check your oil levels or your transmission. What if your independent front
suspension goes? And how are you at double-declutching? I have a full set of tools here, including dipstick and socket set, so let’s have you up on the ramp.’

‘Have I got independent suspension?’

‘So far, yes. The rest of the motor car industry’s been a bit slow, but you’re a comfortable vehicle. I’ve no complaints. Do any of your other passengers voice concerns
after a ride? We could compile a questionnaire and pass it round.’

Eileen enjoyed the close company of a vulgar man. This one was cleverer than her Lazzer had been, though Lazzer’s good points were certainly worth remembering with affection and gratitude.
‘You are not nice,’ she told Keith. ‘This tarpaulin belonged to Miss Morrison’s father, and she values it. It keeps me warm when you pinch all the eiderdown in the middle of
the night. If this carries on, I shall have to wear a vest in bed.’ She had never worn a vest since childhood, and she’d no intention of starting now.

‘I’ll keep you warm. Come here.’

But she wasn’t going to cooperate, especially with a quorum plus full committee in the house, and her mother was as good as a three-line whip. She leapt from the bed, grabbed her clothes,
made a dash for the bathroom, and locked herself in. Laughing almost uncontrollably, she leaned against the door for support. Was she laughing, or was this hysteria?

He was amazing. So controlled and dead-pan serious, so dependable and strong, he was as mad as a March hare in the bedroom. She laughed again. As mad as a hare with a gun up its nose. He was
scratching at the door. Last night had been difficult: young Peter with all that glass in his back, Tom and Marie so upset, Mel determined, almost impudent, and probably sexually active. Eileen was
exhausted. Even so, she wanted to hug her idiot husband. The trouble was, he’d turn a hug into a three-ring circus, and breakfast was required.

‘I told you it were grim up north,’ Keith stage-whispered from the landing. He was only trying to keep her happy, she guessed, but there was a door between them. Sometimes –
and this was one of those times – she wondered how life would have been had she never met him. Would she have consoled herself by having an affair with Marie’s husband? Would she have
given in?

‘Go away,’ she hissed. ‘You are interfering with the balance of my components.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing. Let me in.’

‘No. And I hope you’re wearing something.’

‘I’m not.’

She panicked, opened the door, and he pushed his way into the small room. Triumph written all over his face, he winked at her.

‘You lying toad,’ she accused. He was wearing a shirt and trousers.

He washed her, dried her, dressed her, talking all the time, speaking soft words of love, lust and silliness. There was something strangely erotic about being dressed by a man. She could tell by
his quickened breathing that he felt the same. ‘Do I need an oil change?’ she whispered.

‘No.’ That special, satanic glint showed again in his eyes. ‘But I’ll replenish your fuel tank later. Talking of fuel, Dr Bingley’s taking them back to Willows. If
we get rid of Mel and wait till Miss Morrison takes her nap this afternoon we’ll be able to . . .’

‘Mel,’ she said sadly. ‘Oh, Mel.’

‘It will be all right. She’s got too much sense to muck up her life. Come on. Breakfast for the mob.’

‘Keith?’

‘What?’

‘I love you so much it hurts.’

‘Don’t worry.’ He grinned broadly. ‘I’ll charge your battery when I get the chance. Soon have you running smoothly.’ He left the room. At the top of the
stairs, he stood for a while and smiled to himself. He had managed to capture a wild creature, and she would never eat out of his hand. She suffered no morning sickness, no fools and no nonsense.
She carried on whatever the circumstances, loved her children, loved life, loved him. He was a fortunate man.

The bathroom door opened. ‘Are you lurking?’ Eileen asked sweetly.

‘It’s part of the course.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. After I pass the sex maniac degree, I may do a masters in dirty old man. All I need is a mac or an army greatcoat.’